Work Text:
Previously:
“Only the two of you would pick a fight as a sign of affection,” Eli’s words go unheard as Norton immediately drops his duffle bag to lunge for the hooded figure slouching on the couch. Said hooded figure neatly swerves away from the chokehold and repays the favour with a swift jab to his abdomen.
“What— ow, fuck, no “hey”? No “welcome back”?? This is what I get for being away for a week???”
“Welcome back,” Eli says drily as Norton ignores him completely to go give Naib a shove and a punch to the shoulder. Naib barks a laugh and retaliates by throwing a kick. Norton, clearly used to his antics, dodges the blow and grabs his calf in midair, tugging hard. Eli only hears a thud before he turns to see a tangle of knees and elbows as they both end up on the floor, swearing.
“That was some weak ass punch, Campbell— ”
“Yeah, and who was the one who taught me how to punch?”
“You calling me weak?”
“Oi, stop putting words in my mouth.”
“I’ll put my fist in your mouth— ”
“Stop it, asshole—”
“No, you stop it.”
“I’ll punch your stupid face.”
“With what? Your lips?” Norton sniggers, puckering up with exaggerated kissing noises. Man, pissing Naib off with stupid-ass gestures never got old.
THWACK!
“OW!” Norton’s mouth drops open as his left pectoral starts to sting like hell. “Wait, that wasn’t even a punch— what the fuck?”
“Yeah? Fuck you, that’s what.”
“If that’s what you really wanted, you should’ve just said so.”
“What the h— you know what I mean, you bastard!”
“You’re the one who hit me, you bastard!!” A smug smile graces Norton’s face. “Or you could make it up to me and kiss it all better first.”
Naib shoots Norton the most vicious glare he can muster while pinning his throat with his forearm. The urge to wipe that smirk off his face manifests in a particularly hard shove to the other side of Norton’s chest.
“...I’ll make sure I kiss my knuckles before I punch you in the face for real, you piece of shit.”
Norton doesn’t take the bait, only laughing at the threat. He watches in delight as Naib’s ears burn crimson when he leans in to mutter in his ear:
“That’s hot, sweetheart. Make the next punch harder.”
A pause. Norton’s throat is freed when Naib drops his arm in mortification.
“You— you’re a fucking lunatic, you know that?!?”
Laughter rings in the air as Norton cradles Naib’s pink-flushed cheeks. He softens Naib’s scowl with the brush of his thumb over his lips, then presses a kiss to his brown hair in the gentlest way he can.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m your fucking lunatic, get over it.” The words are fond as Norton leans in a little more, brushing their noses together. Naib suddenly jerks his head back, clearly flustered— though the motion is aborted halfway as he sputters and clenches his hands into fists. Norton snorts when he notices Naib’s refusal to meet his gaze with his spine as stiff as a board. Hah— so much for making up for a week’s worth of affection. Naib’s cheeks and ears are still as red as a tomato, but at least he isn’t reacting with violence anymore. Norton prefers being able to kiss his boyfriend without getting a split lip, thank you very much.
No matter how prickly Naib acts when it comes to showing affection, Norton reads him easily. He hears “mine” when Naib throws out every insult under the sun; he tastes the fondness that seeps out every time they bicker. And he knows Naib is too proud to look at him, even when he wants to the most— because he always tries to hide, as if his eyes haven’t already given him away.
Sucker, he hears the Naib in the corner of his mind scoff.
Because someone has to be the responsible boyfriend in this relationship, Norton slowly peels them off the floor and hauls a half-reluctant Naib upright, lest he suffer some form of spinal misalignment from staying in that position for too long. Naib is still grudgingly clutching Norton’s arm, so Norton yanks him into his embrace as they flop awkwardly onto the sofa.
Slinging an arm around Naib’s waist and manoeuvring his head into his chest amid a stream of grumbles, Norton curls around him, pats his head, and dozes off into the most comfortable nap he’s had all week. “...’m back,” he mumbles into Naib’s hair. “Y’can sleep well now.”
(zzz.)
There’s a weak thud — the sound of a fist hitting someone’s chest — and then another, just for good measure, to make sure the owner of that chest was truly asleep.
An amused puff of air escapes through his chapped lips when the body doesn’t even stir. The corners of his mouth lift, as if pulled by invisible stitches, and he buries his grin with the rest of his nightmares as he leans his cheek against the steady rhythm of Norton’s beating heart.
Sleep drags Naib under with tender, gentle fingers.